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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964986">Tristerix Inflorescence, Corpses, and the Unknown</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlabasterChambers/pseuds/AlabasterChambers'>AlabasterChambers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus &amp; Guillermo del Toro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Changeling Jim Lake Jr, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Domestic Violence, Gen, jim is a changeling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:48:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlabasterChambers/pseuds/AlabasterChambers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara gave Jim up to James Sr. right after he was born, the entire relationship considered a mistake. Fourteen years later, in Arcadia Oaks, strange things start happening and she is caught up in them.</p><p>When Jim was five his father discovered he was a changeling. His father is disgusted, Jim survives until he is 10 when he is found by Morgana, leader of the Janus Order, usurper of Bular and Gunmar. She trains him to fight, and at 12 he is made the Trollhunter.</p><p>At fourteen Jim struggles to survive while the world around him slowly slides toward destruction.</p><p>A dark AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara Lake &amp; Jim Lake Jr., Jim Lake Jr. &amp; Walter Strickler | Stricklander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Meeting of Chance and the Changing of Fate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I consider swearing of any kind simply a form of expression. I am not offended by it, but I am aware that others are. I use it in the story, so brace yourself if it pricks at you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The boy seated on the examination bed was too thin. There were a lot of other “too” statements Dr. Lake could have said as well. Too bruised, too small for his age, too hopeless. His head was hung; long, unkempt and greasy black hair covering his face. He wore a pair of too big jeans, stained and a hole in the knee of the left side, the hems falling just short of a worn pair of trainers. The t-shirt was also a size too large and stained as well. His hands sat in his lap, clasped tightly around each other.</p><p>“Your name?” she asked.</p><p>“James, Lebedev,” the boy replied, voice subdued.</p><p>Barbara entered it into the electronic record.</p><p>“Birth date?”</p><p>“October 10th, 2002.”</p><p>Barbara gave a nod and typed it in. He was fourteen then.</p><p>The boy had been dragged in by police officers, a Detective Louis Scott had given her warning to be careful with the “suspect”. She glanced at the door knowing that one of those officers was waiting outside in case the teenager “tried” anything.</p><p>She looked over to the child on the examination bed. He looked the opposite of someone waiting to try something. </p><p>“Do you have any allergies? Medical conditions? A family history of cancer, or something like that?”</p><p>The boy raised his head and peered at her with startled and slightly confused eyes. He slowly shook his head no. It gave Barbara answer enough. The boy had no idea of any of those things, which meant it would be better to err on the side of caution and make a note of possible allergic reactions or unknown medical problems. She had a feeling his medical file was going to be revisited sooner rather than later.</p><p>“Alright, James,” Barbara said, standing up, “let me get a look at you.”</p><p>The boy looked up again, still startled and now a little fearful. He reminded her of an injured animal. The police outside saw a wolf, she saw a deer.</p><p>She stepped forward, attempting to smile reassuringly. He tensed, hands moving to the bed and clenching at the edges, his eyes darted down, still wide and scared.</p><p>“Sit up straight,” she said.</p><p>The boy flinched, and immediately straightened.</p><p>“I’ll just be checking your breathing first,” she held her stethoscope up.</p><p>The boy nervously hazarded a look at it before staring hard at the ground again.</p><p>Barbara stepped forward and pressed the piece of metal against the boy’s chest. He flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t draw away.</p><p>“Deep breath.”</p><p>The boy sucked in a breath and then held it.</p><p>“Let it out,” she instructed.</p><p>He did so. She pressed the stethoscope against his back and they repeated the process. From there she did basic things, giving him a general check up: eyes and ears. The boy possibly needed glasses, but that was something for the file. For whatever reason this teenager had been pulled in by the police, and though she had no idea why, a baseline was a good place to start. He had no file on hand, and they were at the only hospital in the area, and when asked if he had a basic practitioner that he went to for check ups he had merely stared blankly at her.</p><p>Those things done, Barbara moved on to the reason the police had pulled him in here: general bruising from what the Detective had said was an arduous chase and capture.</p><p>“Does anywhere hurt more than the others?”</p><p>The boy shrugged.</p><p>“If you don’t answer honestly I won’t be able to help you.”</p><p>The boy said nothing. Barbara nearly let out a sigh of frustration. </p><p>“I’m going to check you over for anything broken, you let me know if it hurts or if you are uncomfortable.”</p><p>The boy gave no sign of acknowledgement.</p><p>Hands running over the boy’s arms she hated to note the roughness of the skin. Malnourished, dehydrated, bruised and currently quite dirty. She moved onto his shoulders and collarbone. He made no reaction. She reached his ribs. He flinched violently as she passed her hand lightly over the left side.</p><p>She stopped, fingers gently palpitating the area. The boy let out a hiss and he jerked his head, blue eyes staring at her with pain and anger, they shimmered almost unnaturally. Barbara was surprised at the animalistic threat, one from defense, which shone in his gaze and she drew back. The boy swallowed hard and let his eyes drop again.</p><p>“Your rib is fractured, maybe broken. I’m putting you in for x-rays.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The boy had spoken for the first time since she had stepped into the room</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Barbara said, not liking how the boy was continually surprising her.</p><p>The boy shook his head violently before slipping off the examination table and starting for the door.</p><p>“Hey, we’re not done here,” she said sharply.</p><p>“My dad’s here, we’re done.”</p><p>Barbara frowned, unsure how the boy could know that, and wondering if he was just saying that to get out. A moment later the door opened and a tall, austere looking man in a blue turtleneck and brown slacks and blazer stood there. His green eyes jumped to her and then landed on the boy.</p><p>“Jim! What happened?”</p><p>The man surged forward, a careful hand reaching out and coming to rest on the teenager’s shoulder. The boy shrunk, but didn’t flinch.</p><p>This was his father. The whole situation warped, and the little bit of concern and motherly pity she’d been unintentionally summoning for the boy diminished. Maybe punk/suspect was the correct term in describing him.</p><p>“Why are you here, Mr. Strickler?” The boy’s tone wasn’t rude, or dismissive. It was polite and inquiring.</p><p>“You always did ask foolish questions,” the man, Mr. Strickler, said, then, seeming to have determined that his discussion with the boy was over, he looked to Barbara, “excuse me, doctor, is James okay?”</p><p>Barbara opened her mouth to answer when another figure appeared. A man, slightly shorter than Mr. Strickler and more burly. His hair was the same raven black as her patient’s, only a few streaks of silver in it, and his eyes a dark brown. His face held the same structure as that of James. There was something about him which was ominously familiar.</p><p>“Jimmy! Get over here!” he snapped.</p><p>This time the boy did flinch, glancing pleadingly at the man, who Barbara had thought was his father, before he hunched down and obediently walked over to this new figure. The short tempered man turned, already leaving.</p><p>Barbara’s duties as a doctor came back to her.</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>The man halted, turning around and pinning her with an aggressively annoyed and put upon glare.</p><p>“I need to talk to James’ father,” she looked hesitantly between the two men, “about his injuries. He needs a x-ray but he is refusing to get one, he has at least one broken or fractured rib.”</p><p>“Boy doesn’t need shit, I don’t want some quack doctor telling me what to do with my son.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Barbara replied, taken off guard by his hostility.</p><p>“Get to the car, Jimmy.”</p><p>The boy gave a nod of his head, walking out of the room. They migrated to just outside the examination room door. This time Detective Scott stepped in, a hand landing on the boy’s shoulder.</p><p>“I still have a few questions about why your son was running away from the area of a crime scene.”</p><p>Jim looked extremely uncomfortable, the tension in his body evident to Barbara. Whatever was happening was beyond her knowledge.</p><p>“Wait, officer, please, maybe another time would be best,” Mr. Strickler was stepping in, carefully extricating Jim from the firm, but not harmful, grip of the detective and placing the boy behind him, acting as a shield.</p><p>“I’m sure it has been a trying day for you, and for young Jim here, but I can assure you that running is not a sign of guilt, and that Jim, an exemplary student of mine, has good reason for his actions.”</p><p>“Student?” Detective Scott said incredulously.</p><p>“Yes, I am the history teacher at Arcadia High, Jim is in my freshman class and a member of the chess club.”</p><p>“We still need a statement.”</p><p>“A better time can be arranged, please.”</p><p>The Detective eyed Mr. Strickler suspiciously before his gaze settled on the man Barbara assumed was Mr. Lebedev.</p><p>“You’re his father?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I guess a better time is a better time,” Detective Scott said coldly, pulling out a small piece of paper, “if you’d call me as soon as your son is feeling a little better.”</p><p>Mr. Lebedev took the business card, ill-mannered glare meeting the detective’s cold one, and proceeded to jam it into his pocket.</p><p>“We’re going,” he stated, a rough hand settling on his son’s shoulder and nearly frog marching him away.</p><p>Mr. Strickler managed a weak smile which compunctiously substituted for Mr. Lebedev’s lack of manners.</p><p>It was only once they were gone that Barbara remembered the broken ribs and incomplete medical review.</p><p>“Something isn’t right about that,” the detective murmured, still staring after where they’d disappeared to.</p><p>“His ribs were broken,” Barbara said, addressing, much like the detective, an unpresent figure.</p><p>They caught each other’s attention in this invocation to the world at large and Barbara found the detective’s intensive gaze upon her.</p><p>“What other kind of injuries?”</p><p>Barbara thought of HIPAA and then the fact that it was an incomplete report.</p><p>“Malnutrition,” she stated.</p><p>“Not that kind. Self-defense wounds, against or for.”</p><p>Barbara blinked, trying to think if the boy looked like he had been attacked. There were contusions, but all ones that would indicate-. She frowned, not able to reconcile the boy’s curled shoulders and seeming helplessness with the conclusions.</p><p>“Just, some contusions, they looked like,” again Barbara broke off, thinking of the savage look the boy had gotten when she’d been checking his ribs.</p><p>“Like he attacked someone and they fought back?” the detective’s tone indicated that it wasn’t a random guess.</p><p>Barbara gave a small nod. The detective shook his head.</p><p>“What kind of crime scene was he running away from?” she asked, curious.</p><p>“You’ll see it on the news,” he said, turning and walking away.</p><p>The detective was talking to the other policemen now and Barbara found herself trying to assimilate the strange events.<br/><br/><br/><br/></p><p>Outside, in the parking lot near a battered 90’s chevy pick up, Mr. Lebedev was searching his pockets for his keys; his son stood by. Mr. Strickler was quickly bearing down on them, long strides nearly as fast as a jog.</p><p>“Mr. Lebedev,” he hissed, green eyes flashing angrily.</p><p>The burly, black haired man turned from where he was unlocking his truck, face thunderous.</p><p>“Fuck off, monster,” the man spat.</p><p>Mr. Strickler glanced around quickly before seizing Mr. Lebedev’s shoulder and spinning him around with unnatural strength. He slammed the man against the truck and leaned in closely.</p><p>“You dare compromise our position!” Strickler spat, “You weak, arrogant, fleshbag!”</p><p>“Get your fucking hands off me,” Lebedev replied, though his pomp had waned slightly.</p><p>Jim stood to the side, watching the interaction with an impassive face.</p><p>“No, Mr. Lebedev, we pay you more than enough to keep your filthy mouth shut, and to gain your miserable cooperation.”</p><p>“My cooperation?! You took my son from me and replaced it with a freak like you! Nothing will ever compensate for that!!!”</p><p>At the word “freak” Jim shrank even more.</p><p>“The loss of your son will be the least of your worries if you don’t keep your end of the bargain. You’re very lucky that we even need you living, Mr. Lebedev.”</p><p>With that threat growled out, Mr. Strickler released the man. Mr. Lebedev let out a shaky breath, trying to regain composure.</p><p>Mr. Strickler turned to Jim, his manner completely changed. He drew something from his pocket.</p><p>“I retrieved this from that police officer’s person. It would do well to keep a better hold of it, young Atlas,” the reproach was soft.</p><p>Jim took the round piece of golden machinery which resembled a large pocket watch. He shoved it into his jeans. Mr. Strickler glanced over at Mr. Lebedev with a sour look before returning his attention to the boy.</p><p>“Jim,” he said, before changing over to the trollish language of the changelings, “<em> be more careful, Lady Morgana does not value her allies as she should. I can’t protect you. Not as I wish I could.” </em></p><p>He reached a hand out and set it softly on Jim’s shoulder.</p><p>“The doctor said you were injured,” he stated.</p><p>Jim shrugged, “just my ribs.”</p><p>“You’ll have to report to the Lady Morgana, today’s mission did not go as it should have.”</p><p>Jim looked up fearfully at Strickler.</p><p>“Don’t protest it, Jim, you know you need to."</p><p>With that the changeling turned, a last poisonous glare thrown at Mr. Lebedev, before he moved down the row of cars.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></p><p>Detective Scott left the hospital in his own personal vehicle and began the drive from the hospital to 5th street. About two blocks from the main intersection of Sonoma and 5th, police cars were parked all along an alley entrance. Several uniformed men had cordoned the area off and were waving passerbys on. </p><p>He parked behind one of the service vehicles and climbed out feeling a bit too warm. It was late October and the normal heat of southern California had yet to cool.</p><p>Walking over he waved to Officer Louke and ducked around the makeshift stretch of police tape. In the alleyway a peculiar scene and morbid scene came into view.</p><p>The dumpster, used by the neighboring hole in the wall Mexican restaurant was overturned. A large hole had been punched through it from one side to the other, it was nearly three feet in diameter and whatever had done it had burned through the contents of the dumpster with what Scott could only guess was an intensely hot flame or explosion of some kind. Instead of half-burnt remains there were only ashes and the lingering scent of burnt trash.</p><p>The walls of the alley had long deep scratches, the weak plaster on one side showed where whatever had struck it had sunk nearly eight inches thick. The other wall, brick, had similar, but more shallow cuts. In the center of the alley blood was sprayed over the ground, a small pool spread out across almost an eight foot circle, the walls on either side were splattered and farther past the circle were multiple blood drops freckling the ground generously.</p><p>The three bodies, or what the coroner had guessed were the parts to three bodies, had already been removed.</p><p>Detective Scott took in a deep breath and frowned as the odd smell of ozone overtook his senses. </p><p>For some reason, fourteen year old James Lebedev Jr. was a part of whatever had happened here. Whatever events were unfolding, Scott had a feeling he wasn’t going to like them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Curiosity and Her Victim the Cat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Barabara glanced back over the file, frowning as she realized so much information had been passed over. The presence of the police had left her frazzled and the strange events which had ended with the boy being whisked away hadn't given her much time to do anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had already discussed what had happened with her coworker Dr. Madrigal. He'd reminded her of the state's mandatory reporting laws which gave her 36 hours, but aside from advising to call CPS as soon as possible, he said it might not be addressed due to the lack of information on her part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn't finished her report, there wasn't photographic evidence as of yet, and short of calling Detective Scott, who had requested the report, she had nothing beyond a name and birth date.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The call was made, a Cynthia Villanueva promised to come in as soon as possible, and Barabara was passing along Detective Scott's information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The meeting, in the last hour of Barbara's shift, was short and rather straightforward. She described what she'd seen, what had happened to cut her efforts short, and Ms. Villanueva passed on her contact information.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Barbara left feeling exhausted and done. She couldn't forget the teenager's fear and beaten behavior. The blue eyes had been piercing, a reflection off Barbara's soul which drew her up short and crucified her with its impartial judgement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At home, her two story house felt even more empty. Her parents had passed when she was twenty in a car accident, it had propelled her into a time of grief and a desperate relationship which had led to a baby she ultimately had gone to term with based on her partner's begging her to do so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fourteen years later and she actually felt ready for a child. The opportunity however was past her in her desire to act on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cat, Noodle, greeted her with an indifferent glance and a plaintive meow. She set out food and then microwaved a dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She flipped on her television set and put the news on. Weather, the political climate for the upcoming election, and then a local bit on a crime. Barbara frowned, it was Detective Scott, grim faced as he explained that a suspected homicide had occured in the early morning. The news cut to local crime rates in L.A. county.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man's parting words came back to her. The boy could be involved in this, as a witness, accomplice or even murderer. For some reason the thought was incongruous to Barbara, the boy couldn’t possibly be the guilty party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Omni-Reach Travels had a clean appearance, the building relatively new and the advertising though not inviting far from gaudy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim stared hard at the doors, trepidation consuming him. He didn’t want to see Morgana after yesterday’s debacle. The doors didn't give him an answer or an escape, the blank see through glass merely reflecting the watery image of a miserably looking fourteen year old boy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He entered, Gladys -recently upgraded from her work in a dentist office- stood at the front. Despite having been given one of the most soft and inviting forms Jim had ever seen a changeling take, her cruelty and petty nature somehow leaked through her smile and eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She's not here," she sing-songed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim stopped, his small hopes being crushed. Morgana only held business at the museum when she was in a foul mood. Though the headquarters under Omni-Reach Travels were much more extensive than that of the museum's, they held more magical ties as Morgana put it. It was where she best put to use spells and other magicks, all in Jim's memory being painful and unpleasant things for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim turned around and ignored Gladys' gleefully vicious gaze as he left. The amulet in his pocket ensured that most changelings viewed him as a monster, an inheritor of the bloodied hands of the many trollhunters who had come before and slaughtered thousands of their kind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he pushed the doors open, he tried not to shudder at the strange mix of warmth and chill. The sun was visible, but the wind was strong and cold. Jim shook his head and his eyes darted around him at the surroundings. The street was empty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Making his way over to a man hole in the middle of the street he squatted low and with his fingers nimbly hooked into the area of this particular manhole where he’d bent it. With strength, astonishing when compared to his size and figure, he pulled the cover up and dropped through the hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He landed in ankle deep water. Sniffing, he rubbed at his nose, his body shifted and morphed during this action, and by the time he was dropping his hand his body was that of a troll, a blue furred creature with curved horns atop his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More relaxed, he started on his way down the tunnel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He emerged in a dark, underdeveloped tunnel which was mainly dirt reinforced by some beams. It was the edge of the tunnel system Morgana had been developing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim walked down it, as he progressed the tunnel showed signs of being more developed. He finally came to a large open room with a high ceiling, one he knew was directly under the museum. As Gladys had told him Morgana was there, standing in the center, floating in a cross-legged position, several rare stones circling her as they emanated various lights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim approached, but he stopped when he was still a good fifty feet away. He waited, knowing that she knew he was there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Minutes passed and he sat down on the ground, bored as minutes turned into an hour. The witch would not forgive him if he left, yet her wrath would be worse if he interrupted her. He resorted to picking at his t-shirt, an item which fit him in his current form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nearly two hours later Morgana moved, the rocks lowering to the ground and she herself coming to stand. Jim stood as she began to walk over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her red hair had been left loose, and she was dressed more casually than normal. It meant she’d been training or meditating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You stink,” she said, eyeing Jim with disgust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said nothing, keeping his eyes on the ground. He liked the sewers for moving about, less people could see him, and they were safer, more quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was informed of your failure to quietly clean up the mission I gave you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim gave a small nod, hunching down as her tone indicated her anger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not only did you fail to keep the local police uninvolved, and to dispose of the remains of our enemies, you were also injured! You are a waste!” she shouted the last bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim flinched back at it, expecting the witch to do something. Instead she clenched her fist, face slightly pale. She shook her head and looked back at the rocks which she had been using. Waving a hand she summoned them to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is merely a testament to Merlin’s true skills, the old fool was incapable of making anything worthwhile.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened a portal and placed the rocks in it. The black swirl vanished as her hand fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re very lucky I have any use for you,” she looked at him significantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lady Creator,” he mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now for your misbegotten injuries. I will heal you. After, speak with Zax, he has your next task.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim gave a nod of his head and hunched in, preparing himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morgana raised both hands. Jim lasted a moment as intense pain ripped through his body. He collapsed to the ground, biting through his lip as he tried to keep from crying out. His efforts did not last and he screamed. Several seconds later and he passed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The coroner’s report matched up with Detective Louis Scott’s guess. Three bodies of which all were definitely male. Who they were however was turning out to be a more complicated question. Nothing had been reported since the event. No one was missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gotten a call from a woman from CPS, a Ms. Villanueva, asking about his only suspect, Jim Lebedev. Scott had thought something was off about everything that had happened, and it helped to see that some of it was justified. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Mr. James Lebedev, father to his suspect, had stormed in, Scott had gotten an address and number off the man, trying to explain to the impossible man his son’s position. Abuse didn’t seem like a difficult stretch of the imagination, and it would tie in with what Scott believed was definite involvement, if not actual assistance in the murders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arriving at the address he stared at the obviously vacated house and felt his stomach tense at the sight. He pulled out the phone number, one he had already tried multiple times, and realized that it was probably made up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He called Louke, the officer working with him on the case, asking him to look up James Lebedev in the L.A. county records. If this case took any more nasty turns it might need to be handed off to higher authorities than him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost 16:00 by the time he’d chased down all his tasks and accomplished them, from meeting with the coroner again to sign off on the report and issuing a search through dental records to try to match the victims, to trying to pry away the hungry reporters. He hadn’t had a moments rest. Pulling out his phone he saw several missed calls from his daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Detective Louis Scott cursed, standing up abruptly from his chair and moving hurriedly toward the exit. He was supposed to have picked his daughter up twenty minutes ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed the speed limits as he drove through the sleepy streets of Arcadia Oaks, cursing himself for having forgotten. This case had left him distracted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louis pulled up to the curbside of the front of the school, his daughter was standing there alone, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up however, an indication that the phone was merely an ineffective distraction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spotted him, and instead of her usual smile, she looked away immediately and started walking over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Getting in the car, she slammed the door and said nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’m late, Darci.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled out her phone again and angrily began scrolling through her twitter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had this case, you know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could have texted to say you would be late,” she replied, the hurt in her tone obvious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry, Darci.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl’s anger seemed to be dissipating slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it the one on the news? I saw it last night. People were asking about it at school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was that one,” Louis replied, “I’m going to drop you off at home, I need you to tell your mother I won’t be back until late.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Darci raised a brow, eyeing her father incredulously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you tell mom that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louis held back a sigh. He didn’t want to have that conversation, especially not with his fourteen year old daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Also, I don’t want you going anywhere late at night, have your mother or I drive you if you want to see a movie or go to your friend’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but it isn’t like mom lets me go anywhere on school nights anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They only lived a few blocks from the school and were already pulling up in front of the house. As Darci gathered her stuff, Louis found himself wishing he could do more to keep his family safe. Events like yesterday’s scared him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just, be safe, alright, I worry about you guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Darci rolled her eyes, “I will dad, see you at dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shut the car door and waved over her shoulder as she walked up the driveway. Louis watched her enter the house before he began his drive back to the police station. He arrived and no sooner than he had stepped through the door Officer Louke was standing in front of him telling him that he’d found information on James Lebedev Sr. and his son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking over to the fax machine he picked up the papers which Louke had said were sent over by public records.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first were two death certificates, the next a coroner’s report on the man. The next was the case report. James Lebedev Sr. and James Lebedev Jr. had both died in a car crash four years ago during a flash flood. Their bodies had been recovered several months later when a hiker had spotted the car in Santa Anita canyon. The pictures of the living persons, from four years ago, showed a ten year old boy, just as beaten looking as the fourteen year old, but unmistakably the same child, and then a photo of a man who could be none other than James Lebedev Sr., though he was thinner, his face clean shaven, and less grey in his hair in the photo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim woke feeling extremely sore, but his ribs no longer pained him. He opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer in the large, high ceilinged cavern below the museum. He was in the small office of MInami Nomura. He looked around him and saw Stricklander seated at the woman’s desk, flipping through some papers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim sat up from the couch. Stricklander, in his changeling form, looked over and a wan smile made its way onto his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I leave for a year and you manage to make a mess of things,” he joked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim frowned, staring hard at the ground. Stricklander had left over a year ago on a mission which Morgana had refused to tell him about, he hadn’t said goodbye or left any note to explain the absence. Jim didn’t care for many people, and he tried not to get attached to the few people and things in his life, but Stricklander, outside of Nomura, was one of the only beings who was kind to him. It had hurt when he’d left as he had, and it still hurt now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stricklander’s smile faded and he let out a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to leave you as I did. Nor for Morgana to place you back in the hands of your father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim felt his anger slowly fading into simply pain at what he felt was abandonment. The last year had been lonely and frightening. His father, who didn’t stand his presence in his house without some form of physical or verbal violence, had driven him to wandering the sewers and spying on the world above, one which fascinated him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It looks as if they didn’t even feed you!” it was another half-joke, one which fell flat and soured as Jim’s silence indicated that it was the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They have the pens for the changelings, the goblins keep them full, you know that,” Stricklander said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like eating them, they were pets, and they cry: the dogs, and the cats,” Jim said quietly, not looking at Stricklander.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The changeling stood, walking over and sitting down next to Jim, he placed a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I completely agree, in which case let’s get you something real to eat, and you can return to my home for new quarters. Maybe take a shower as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim cast him a hesitant look but consented with a short nod of his head.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Invariably We Come to the Same Conclusion: Pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nomura, despite towering over the witch Morgana, felt her insides tight with fear and anxiety. The Pale Lady was not happy, and despite appearing calm, the immortal’s gaze showed just how close she was to letting her frustrations surface.</p><p>“You called for me, milady?”</p><p>“Change forms,” Morgana commanded with a sneer.</p><p>Nomura let her form morph into that of her human counterpart, Minami Nomura.</p><p>“I need apprentices.”</p><p>Nomura frowned, unsure exactly what that meant.</p><p>“I want more to my legacy, I will only take women, girls actually, adolescents who show power,” Morgana drew from a portal a small stone.</p><p>“Find a way to present this to young women in this town. If they possess any potential it will show you.”</p><p>Nomura carefully took the dark black stone and eyed it with hesitation.</p><p>“As you desire, milady.”</p><p>“Also, I shall be on a trip for the next week, after this meeting I will be travelling to Brazil. Let no one bother me.”</p><p>Morgana waved her hand at the changeling. Nomura bowed and left the room. </p><p>Outside, with the door shut, she held the stone up to the light. It was translucent, smoke swirling at its center. The object left a slight cold burning sensation, as if from frost, in Nomura’s finger tips, weighed by a malignant feeling which caused her to feel colder than even when she was in her trollish form.</p><p>She dropped her arm and placed the stone in her skirt pocket. She walked up the stairs leading to the museum’s closed space for an exhibit which would never come. Killahead bridge stood in it, carefully pieced together six years ago.</p><p>When the Pale Lady had emerged, brought forth through the joint efforts of Otto Scaarbach and the South American headquarters of the Janus Order, many changelings had seen this as the beginning of equality for changelings. The pointless caste system would be eradicated by their creator. To a degree Morgana had done that, she’d quickly whipped Bular into obeisance before then releasing Gunmar, her intent to strengthen her forces.</p><p>Gunmar however had betrayed her, a small civil war had broken out, it had ended with Morgana scattering Gunmar’s remains in front of the surviving Gumm-gumms and demanding their allegiance.</p><p>Little had changed though, Morgana had no mercy for anyone.</p><p>Stepping out into the sunlit rooms of the world history museum, Nomura noted the few humans who were visiting during the midday hours. She felt herself relax slightly, despite the stone safely contained in her pocket. Whatever Morgana’s plans, Nomura knew she would follow the changeling rules and keep herself alive.</p><p>As for this new task, she had a perfect idea. All she needed was Stricklander’s cooperation and soon she would have access to every female adolescent who took a history class at Arcadia Oaks High.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Stricklander lived in a neat little apartment building in the southwest area of Arcadia Oaks. It had two bedrooms, two baths, and was decorated rather luxuriously for someone with so meager a paycheck. Historical artefacts, most unbeknownst to many as being trollish in nature, were hung or displayed in some way throughout the house. Jim hated sleeping on the couch just to wake up to the gruesome Polynesian masks which replaced the area where a television would usually go. Stricklander had said they were used in rituals where humans were offered as sacrifices to trolls, then considered by the society to be the beneficiaries of their people.</p><p>Despite the little apartment being the closest thing Jim could consider as home, he always felt out of place there. Now the sensation was felt more sharply than before Stricklander had left last year.</p><p>Yawning, Jim sat up and stretched his arms. The aches from Morgana’s intentionally painful healing spell had passed. His stomach gurgled, and he shook his head much like a dog would.</p><p>“Breakfast?”</p><p>Stricklander was standing there in human form, his preferred appearance as far as Jim could tell, an apron on and his green eyes unreadable as ever.</p><p>Rising, Jim walked over to the dining table and saw the spread of eggs, a brown cylindrical thing he couldn’t remember the name of, and many other human foods. With his hands he began shoving food in his mouth as fast as he could. It had been a while since he had eaten, and even longer since it had been a decent meal. He ignored Stricklander’s displeased gaze as the changeling, who had removed the apron, primly sipped his own cup of tea.</p><p>“<em> Nomura said you failed your mission,” </em>Jim spoke in the changeling language, Caelish, mouth full and a few pieces of scrambled egg falling out.</p><p>Stricklander’s eyes flashed with anger and he set his teacup down.</p><p>“It would help if you spoke with your mouth empty,” he reprimanded.</p><p>Jim shrugged, but all the same he swallowed his food before speaking again.</p><p><em> “What was your mission?” </em>Jim asked.</p><p>“Enough Caelish at the table, Jim, and for god's sake can we please refrain from discussing anything regarding my trip. You already know that Morgana doesn’t want you to know,” Stricklander snapped.</p><p>Jim lowered his eyes to the table and tried to swallow the sensation of discontent which fell over him. He grabbed a piece of what he thought was called toast and shoved the whole piece in his mouth. He didn’t mean to make Stricklander mad.</p><p>“Finish eating, I need to go to work, please don’t sample any of the furniture,” Stricklander said disdainfully before standing up and walking away.</p><p>Jim watched him go, knowing he had irritated the man. When the door had clicked shut he felt his discontent swell, anger and loneliness washing over him. During Stricklander’s year gone, and before even then, other changelings had whispered to him and told him of how Stricklander was just using him. As the trollhunter he was valuable, even if Morgana did despise him for it somehow all tying him to a man named Merlin who she hated.</p><p>Jim didn’t understand any of it, he was just trying to please the people around him. He didn’t want to be the way he was. When he had first changed into a troll at the age of five during a game of horseshoe, as ridiculous as it had seemed, everything about him seemed to be wrong to his father. The man had gone from loving to a cold, angry and violent man. Even when Morgana had discovered him four years ago the joy of finding others like him had been quickly doused when two years later the amulet created by Merlin had chosen him.</p><p>Biting his lip, Jim’s anger bled away. He just wanted to not be the freak everyone seemed to hate for some reason or other. Feeling morose and unhappy, he left Stricklander’s apartment.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sounds of paper shuffling filled Detective Scott’s ears as Mrs. Duncan, the archive specialist at the county records office, looked for the paperwork she had just faxed to him yesterday. His back ached, and his coffee had not done much to help him wake up. He had slept on the couch last night. Imani hadn’t minded that he had worked late, but she had not been happy about him not even calling her and for having forgotten Darci at school.</p><p>“I really don’t know why you need these, detective, I promise I sent you all we had yesterday,” the woman said.</p><p>She was pushing what looked like eighty, and her progress through the files was like watching someone pour molasses. Scott didn’t have as much time as he could have hoped. Three dead men, still unidentified, and his only suspect, a literal ghost. </p><p>Holding back a sigh as he watched her work he was pulled from his irritation by his phone ringing. He pulled his mobile out and saw an unknown number. He gestured politely to Mrs. Duncan who didn’t even look up, and then walked a couple feet away.</p><p>“This is detective Scott.”</p><p>
  <em> “Hello? This is Barbara, Barbara Lake.” </em>
</p><p>Scott frowned, trying to recall the name. It came to mind as he remembered the unfinished medical report connected to the case.</p><p>“Dr. Lake, how can I help you?”</p><p>
  <em> “I was just wondering, about James Lebedev jr., have you found him yet?” </em>
</p><p>“Not yet, Dr. Lake, is there a reason you’re interested.”</p><p>
  <em> “No, well, Mrs. Villanueva, his caseworker, had said that his medical care had been moved over to a different county, she said he was placed in the foster system over there with CPS. I was just curious if everything turned out well. What do you mean you haven’t found him yet?” </em>
</p><p>The words caused Scott to frown. The strange pull of his instinct which told him that there was a lot more going on here than just a triple homicide, rose again. </p><p>“I just meant haven’t found him a good place yet, I’ll let you know if I get word of anything, but I suggest you keep in contact with Ms. Villanueva for better information.”</p><p>
  <em> “Of course, thank you so much Detective, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” </em>
</p><p>“It is no problem, Doctor, if only all citizens care as much as you do.”</p><p>
  <em> “Oh, well, thank you, good bye.” </em>
</p><p>Scott hung up and walked back over to Mrs. Duncan. She had the reports. They were exactly the same as the ones faxed over.</p><p>“And this is all you have?” he asked.</p><p>“I may be old, Detective, but I know this archive like the back of my hand, those death certificates are genuine.”</p><p>“Any other public records on James Lebedev Sr. and Jr.?”</p><p>“Let me check.”</p><p>Scott held back a sigh as the old woman began his request with the same obstinate and slow speed.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></p><p>Krax was never rude but he was never friendly, always eyeing Jim with distrust in his gaze. Today the troll looked no less wary. Jim awkwardly shuffled over to him, looking at the room around them, a small warehouse owned by the Janus Order on the outskirts of the community, instead of at Krax.</p><p>“The Pale Lady desires for you to hunt for trolls, and to capture them, relatively unharmed.”</p><p>Jim startled, glancing up at the troll. The thick set troll’s gaze was judgemental and indicated that he would give Jim no explanation for the strange order. The boy considered questioning it, but even in his troll form he was quite small for a changeling and Krax towered over him. The troll’s skills were undoubtedly incomparable to Jim’s, but Morgana didn’t like questions, or those who questioned her messengers.</p><p>Jim nodded his head, skin itching with the sensation of not being welcome or comfortable where he was at. Letting out a small grunt of acknowledgement for Krax, he turned to go.</p><p>“You know, Stricklander is just using you, he is the only changeling stupid enough to think he can gain the loyalty of a beast.”</p><p>Jim flinched at the words. They were said to spite him, and yet there was a grain of truth to them. He knew enough to see where Stricklander drew his lines, and protecting Jim from Morgana had been a step too far for the changeling. Krax was probably right.</p><p>It still hurt, and Jim liked the idea of pretending he didn’t see the signs which indicated that most of Stricklander’s aid was offered at the price of what Jim could offer him. He shook his head, willing away the pain.</p><p>Jim sprinted and jumped toward the windows which lined the upper portion of the walls and were all open, his fingers found the ledge and he hauled himself up and over.</p><p>Outside dusk had just fled and the dark of the night was fought only by the distant city lights and the few stars which shone overhead.</p><p>Jim, crouched on the street outside the warehouse, tried to think of where he would roam tonight. Trolls rarely, if ever, stepped out of Trollmarket. He glanced around and felt the prickle of unease, he wanted to be somewhere more concealed, or lower in the ground, higher however would have to do for now. </p><p>Starting at a run he launched himself up and forward, catching onto the brick building next to the warehouse and quickly climbing it. </p><p>He paused a moment on the roof, keen blue eyes, glowing in the dark, surveyed the landscape of the town. To the east were the San Gabriel mountains, west was the heart of L.A., aglow with lights and beyond it, Jim knew from the bits and pieces of his childhood, was the Pacific ocean. He had a faint memory of going there with his father, back in a dreamlike land where life had been happy.</p><p>He let out a grunt of irritation, Krax had stirred up emotions he preferred to forget existed. The dark forms of the San Gabriel mountains drew him in and he set of in that direction, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.</p><p>Wind whistled by him, and as he leapt from one rooftop to the next, the sensation of wingless flight, held for only a few seconds, brought him the singular feeling of freedom. He moved and ran until he grew exhausted and sweaty.</p><p>Satiated after a fruitless, but physically enjoyable, patrol of the last hour or so, he settled on the rooftop of a building located on the mainstreet of Arcadia Oaks. His breathing calmed and he felt himself relax.</p><p>With legs swinging from his seated position on the edge of the roof, Jim tried to enjoy the sight of the street. At this time of night it was empty, but he knew that during the day it was filled with people hurrying about. Despite his fear of humans, he loved watching them bustle around, imagining sometimes he could walk with one of them, talk and laugh like he saw some of them do. Their world seemed so vibrant and happy.</p><p>Occupied with daydreaming about leading his own life as a human, Jim did not hear the scratch of stone against cement. </p><p>One moment he was looking at the street, the next he was blinking his eyes open from his position on it, a blow having sent him hurtling onto the pavement.</p><p>On the roof where he had just been a large blue troll stood, in his hands were dual swords. He jumped down, both swords swinging. Jim scrambled away, roughly managing to stand.</p><p>“Hold still, vermin!” the troll shouted.</p><p>Jim dodged another swing of the sword, meanwhile recalling exactly who this troll was. Two years ago, when Jim had been made trollhunter, this troll had blamed him for the death of his father Kanjigar. He called himself Draal the Deadly.</p><p>Jim let out a yelp as another swing nearly cut him in half, his reflexes and nimbleness allowing him to vault himself over the head of Draal using the sword and its upswinging motion as a platform.</p><p>“I will kill you, even if you jump around like a rock flea!” Draal sneered.</p><p>Jim growled back, the amulet reacting to his anger and forming armor around him. </p><p>“You mock me, and my father!” Draal roared, rushing forward.</p><p>His hit knocked Jim flying, the boy's body slamming through the nearby shop window and causing the glass to shatter. Jim felt a painful sting, but without time to check, he quickly shook his head and jumped up as Draal surged forward again. </p><p>Dodging around the stone mass which was Draal, Jim summoned the sword of daylight and swung it, gaining momentum, before releasing it and sending it flying toward Draal. The troll dodged it partially, the blade skating across his forearm and causing him to let out an angry yell.</p><p>Jim grinned maliciously, baring his teeth at his enemy. It would make Morgana very happy if he could catch Draal, even just killing him would be something to brag about.</p><p>Something plowed into him, something that wasn’t Draal. He hit the ground hard, head first, and his vision blacked out for a moment. Terror and the need to live forced him to open his eyes, chest convulsing before his lungs remembered how to work and he sucked in a deep breath. Another troll had entered the fray and completely blindsided him. They were lashing out. He rolled away, barely avoiding the hit. His armor had faded, his fear overwhelming him.</p><p>Draal was there, sword arcing down. He weakly scrabbled away from it, trying to orient himself. He barely saw the sword swinging his way, held by the other troll.</p><p>The hit sliced across his chest and he collapsed with a loud scream and howl of pain. On the ground, completely dazed, he watched as Draal approached, sword raising. His vision was fading and he could feel something wet coming from him. Fingers weakly patting against his chest he brought them up and saw blood. Draal’s sword descended and he clenched his eyes shut, terrified of dying.</p><p>The world jerked and moved around him, something picking him up and pulling him away. Wind whipped through his fur and he heard a familiar voice speaking agitatedly. The pain however was swiftly dying down to be replaced with an odd floating sensation. He blinked his eyes open and saw the night sky around him, he sluggishly tilted his head and looked up to see his rescuer. Stricklander was in trollish form and flying, eyes facing forward.</p><p>Jim passed out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A New World and New Order</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please don't quote me medical terms, procedures, or the like, if I wanted to write some bloody book to publish maybe I'd give a shit then, otherwise leave me to my blessed ignorance, because knowing the difference between surgical procedures isn't going to help me, nor is it going to suddenly make me care if my fiction is less fictional.</p><p>And if anyone reading this decides that they want to use it for a medical reference, the good Lord Cthulhu willing, I hope they die just to satisfy the law of natural selection.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Barbara got home a little earlier than usual. She’d worked a double shift and it had started to turn into a triple shift when her coworkers had finally pushed her out the doors a little after three in the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collapsing onto her couch, Barbara felt somewhere between wired and exhausted. It was silent and dark in her home. She didn’t feel like climbing the stairs and quickly showering before passing out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let out a soft sigh. Noodle meowed loudly and jumped onto the couch beside her. He nudged at her hand as she raised it to pet him. Letting out a pur, he settled next to her and proceeded to nap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, for the next few minutes, Barbara could sit her and pet her cat and pretend that there was more to her life than sixteen hour shifts at the hospital. Noodle let out a meow and roused himself to nudge at her to continue petting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara chuckled, “okay, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noodle resettled and Barbara felt herself start to relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her feet propped up on the ottoman, her head leaned back slightly, she could see into her backyard, the sliding glass door shut and the blinds open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lids heavy, she barely noticed a dark shape suddenly descend into the yard. They were lost in the shadows the next moment. Barbara sat up, blinking rapidly and trying to think if her lack of sleep was causing her to see things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing, she walked over to the sliding glass door and peered out. There was a figure, that of a man carrying something which looked like a body. They approached and Barbara flicked on the back porch light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the tall man from the hospital and in his arms was, a creature? Barbara did a double take, trying to take in the blue, furred man? Were those horns?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was staring desperately at her, and it was at this point that Barbara saw the blood. Throwing open the door, she stood aside as the man stepped into the room. Whatever the creature was, it appeared to be unconscious and had a large injury across his chest which was the source of the blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry to barge in on you, I know this is unprecedented, but I need help, the injury is only fifteen minutes old, but he may be losing too much blood, and-” the man was rambling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way,” Barbara said, quickly falling back into her work mindset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it wasn’t the ER, and her client was possibly not even human, but she was familiar with this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put him on the table,” Barbara ordered, thankful that she had never taken the time to remove the leaves from the center of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man laid the creature out. Barbara kept some things in the house, but nothing like surgical tools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get some water, I have pitchers in the kitchen,” Barbara ordered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man responded immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara surveyed the thing, taking in the slight body, maybe five feet ten inches at most, blue skinned. He was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of ratty tennis shoes. Thinking quick, Barbara headed to the kitchen where the man was filling a pitcher, and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she came back the thing had opened its eyes. Barbara approached and it flinched away from her, growling low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took another step forward and it convulsed in fear, tumbling to the ground. A sharp cry sounded from it and Barbara hastily set the scissors on the table and knelt next to it. It lashed out, trying to claw her. Used to occasional confrontations in the ER Barbara jerked back in time to save herself from injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim!” the man cried, nearly dropping the pitcher as he rushed forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed it to Barbara and kneeled down next to the creature whose name was apparently ‘Jim’. He started speaking in a language Barbara did not know. The creature, Jim, chest heaving and eyes wide, stared at the man. At something the man said Jim glanced over at Barbara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man whispered the word ‘please’ and Jim gave a nod of his head. The man, in a show of incredible strength, lifted the boy and placed him back on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll cooperate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara gave an incredulous nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, before I do this, I’m not sure I should, what is he and what is happening?” Barbara begged, already exhausted and trying to cope with the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, we don’t have time, and I can’t take him to a hospital, there would be questions,” the man replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Barbara cried, not okay with the lack of control she had in her own face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Strickler, or just Walter, this is Jim. Please, doctor Lake, he needs help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara looked at the creature named Jim and met a blue eyed gaze which was oddly familiar. It broke her resolve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I’ll do what I can,” she said, picking the scissors back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jim tensed and Barbara put on a reassuring smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be okay, Jim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cut the shirt off. Revealed was the grisly cut. It was still bleeding, albeit sluggishly. Barbara leaned over and inspected, hoping that his biology was similar to a human’s. It didn’t look deep enough to have done internal damage, which meant a serious procedure wasn’t necessary, just an extensive amount of sutures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out and felt his skin. It was stiff, and rough, like stone. She frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He needs stitches, but, his skin, I don’t think any needles I have here would pierce it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter gave a nod, face pinched with concern and pale. He turned to Jim and leaned over, speaking once again in a different language. Jim shook his head, eyes wide with fear. Walter spoke in a more firm tone. A moment passed and Jim’s face fell, despair overcoming him as he conceded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara watched in shock as his body morphed, blue skin turning pale and blue hair going black. When finished what was on the table was the body of a young adolescent male. Barbara recognized the boy from the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grew faint, and Walter swiftly stepped to her side, keeping her from falling over in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you able to work, doctor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara gave a faint nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me the dental floss, from my bathroom,” she said, “and I have a sewing kit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter left. Barbara used the water to clean the area, water dripping onto the table and falling to the floor. The boy didn’t respond and Barbara wished that this was happening in a professional environment, where monitoring the boy would be easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivered and Barbara looked over to see that he was staring at her fearfully. She smiled softly, trying to look as reassuring as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be okay, kiddo, I’m going to help you, alright,” she reached out, a hand gently grasping one of his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held her gaze and though he didn’t respond, he also didn’t flinch away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter returned and handed the items over to Barbara. Feeling like she was spitting on the work of all of her graduate teachers and every single thing she had learned in school and during her work, she sanitized her unused sewing needle and the unwaxed dental floss with a half bottle of vodka which had been a part of a gift basket in a christmas exchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway through the process Jim passed out. When she finished, Barbara took a step back and felt her brain, half detached as it became when she worked long hours at the hospital, try to come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs rest for the next twenty four hours, and to be monitored. If we were at the hospital I would put him on something to keep him hydrated and something to help with the pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter gave a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can put him on the couch for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter looked up at her, startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He shouldn’t be moved for the next twenty four hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter gave a nod, lifting the boy into his arms and following Barbara to the living room. For once Barbara was grateful for splurging on furniture as the cornered couch left room to set Jim down and for Barbara to collapse bonelessly against the cushions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter settled next to her, politely keeping distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, doctor, for your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara wanted to laugh hysterically at the statement. Tonight had been the weirdest night of her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just, I want an explanation. What is Jim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara sat up to see Walter watching her contemplatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A changeling, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are other creatures in this world with a level of sentience equal to that of humans, Doctor Lake, Jim is one. As am I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can change like he did?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a slow nod. She looked expectantly at him. He stood and she watched him morph and change. A tall, narrow creature stood before her, horns less curved and longer than Jim’s. The long brown cape, and matching kilt, stood out against the green skin and his eyes, unlike Jim’s, really did glow. Her jaw dropped. He sat back down and Barbara tried to process what she was seeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a changeling, definitively. There are trolls, creatures which assume a shape like the one I hold now, but they do not change into a human one and cannot enter the light.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-is that it?” Barbara asked, overwhelmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, there are many more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why come here?” Barbara asked, wondering how she had been dragged into all this, why she had been chosen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I remembered you, from the hospital. Our kind are very wary, and I am sorry to say I might have intruded on your privacy in order to make sure Jim was protected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stalked me?” Barbara asked, yet another thing which she had little ability to manage emotionally at the moment. It was vaguely alarming, but as exhausted as she was and shocked she let it fall away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The secrecy of our existence is something which must be ensured, no matter what. I do apologize doctor, I did not mean to involve you any more than you already were, but the situation was, dire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara gave a nod of her head. So, a whole unknown part of her world had decided to include her, and if her experience spoke for the entirety of it, it was quite dangerous. Her mind wandered to the passed out teen on her couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How old is he?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter appeared startled by the sudden change in topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fourteen, I believe the information he gave to you was accurate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara’s heart went out to the boy. So young to be injured the way he was, and she couldn’t forget his other more long-term injuries and health problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did he get hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trolls do not like changelings, and there are clear distinctions drawn between our “species” so to speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara gave another nod, the nth adrenaline rush of the last twenty four hours was fading fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs to stay here for tonight, you can sleep here as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walter abruptly stood, hands raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I must go. There are many things I must deal with. Are you sure he can stay here for now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara looked up at Walter and nodded her head. A wan, but relieved smile crossed his face. His body morphed and she was looking once again at the stately teacher she had met nearly a week ago. It was a little disorienting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank, Dr. Lake, I’m not usually so spontaneous when it comes to trusting people. You are, unusual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The statement was sincere and even as tired as she was, she could tell it was a difficult one for him to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did an awkward bow and said good night. Barbara watched him exit, his form changing in the backyard and a set of large bat-like wings snapping out. They were illuminated by the porch light and cast a shadow across the fence. With a jump he shot into the air and vanished in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara walked back in, locking the door behind her. She walked over to her “patient” and saw that his breathing was stable. She pressed a hand to his brow and felt that his temperature was relatively normal. She brushed his hair back and drew the throw blanket better around his form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Settling on the couch she laid down and took her glasses off, setting them on the coffee table. Drawing her arm across her eyes she fell asleep almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>Stricklander relished the quiet as he flew across Arcadia Oaks. It was almost 0600 and he had his duties as a human high school teacher which started at 0810. Before then he needed to solve the catastrophe which had just occurred. At the moment he just wanted to murder Krax. The changeling must have known about Draal and his hunt, he was their spy in trollmarket. The bitter creature had let the child go to his death. When Stricklander had heard about Jim’s patrol he had immediately set out to find the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite trying to stay aloof to Jim, Stricklander had spent the last four years becoming attached to the child. The boy was determined, naive -an unheard of trait for a changeling-, kind, and ever curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However he made quite a mess. The squeamishness with which he had dealt with Morgana’s orders to “handle” the three humans in the alley had caused many problems. Luckily Manchester, another changeling, had been present to ensure the humans were properly disposed of. The police were poking their head in places they weren’t wanted and Morgana, trusting Stricklander’s skills, had put him in charge of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet she did not trust him, not having mentioned her trip to Brazil, and if not for Nomura asking for his help to gather young women and him using his own wits to put facts together, he wouldn’t have been able to surmise that she was taking an apprentice. There was much else amiss too which bothered him. Things were not as harmonious as they should have been following Gunmar’s death and Morgana’s total take over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stricklander landed outside his own apartment, exhausted and knowing that he wouldn’t sleep for a good while longer. As he quickly gathered his things and made mental notes for the day, his mind wandered back to the good doctor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t an emotional person; logical and cunning as the day was long, not however, prone to subjective feelings. Dr. Barbara Lake was, admittedly, a divine looking creature. Looks however could be easily avoided, Stricklander had centuries of beauties which he had met or seen. She was strong, hardworking, capable, and yet kind and indefatigably invested in others’ wellbeings. In the last week of “stalking” her, he had formed an illogical attachment, much like his one to Jim, but one more capricious and emotional.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trusted her, at least more than most others. When he had found Jim, injured, Stricklander had been scared out of his mind, terrified of losing the boy. Then he had taken him to the doctor’s house, a wild gamble as it was, and a decision he still didn’t understand despite him having been the one to make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cleaned up, a cup of tea in him, Stricklander headed out the door as the sun rose, headed on his way to school.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm besotted with this story. As of now, expect regular updates. The storyline is fleshed out and it wants writing at the moment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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